


keep the noiseless tenor of my way

by redyucca



Series: but home was a dream [2]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, sequel trilogy what sequel trilogy never heard of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:53:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29385150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redyucca/pseuds/redyucca
Summary: Din has a minor existential crisis, like: "oh woe, oh woe, what is the point of fighting if evil people keep on their shit?"Anyway, he gets over it.[small epilogue to “but home was a dream”]
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Series: but home was a dream [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158581
Comments: 10
Kudos: 258





	keep the noiseless tenor of my way

Din stepped out of his ship in the moon’s early morning, a wounded Jhaci hanging off his shoulder. He kept his mind as clear and focused as possible as he walked up the path to the temple complex, trying not to alert the force-users, still sleeping as dawn began to crack. 

“You know I don’t like it when they use their weird healing magic,” said Jhaci, limping, as they made it up the final steps into the courtyard. “It’s cheating.”

“I’ve been informed many times that the Force isn’t cheating,” said Din. 

“Been informed by the sorcerers, you mean,” she replied, attempting a disdainful tone but failing to meet it. She loved the younglings and spent more time than most with the unclaimed children from liberation-missions, guiding them through the Creed if they wished to take it, and playing with the Jedi younglings and Acolytes. 

They stumbled their way across the soft lichen ground and followed the breezeway to the kitchen. As they approached, Din could smell and hear rice and vegetables being tossed in hot oil and, despite his deep emotional exhaustion, his stomach growled. “They better have caf,” muttered Jhaci and they turned into the warm room. 

Amabe stood with one of the young Acolytes, Drex, at the stove, him on a stool, a careful distance from the fire, while Amabe force-stirred a simmering pan. A youngling, the youngest they had liberated, snored in a basket of potatoes on the table. As soon as they had stepped into the room, Amabe had turned and shot them a surprised and delighted grin. 

“Smells good,” said Jhaci as Din helped her into a chair. She immediately reached for a peeler and a potato. With so many now to feed, meal prep was a group endeavor. Soon the elder Acolytes would wake and come down to help and the kitchen would be bursting with people and spices. Tara, a very old woman who used to work with the Jedi in their gardens at the Temple on Coruscant, would set the giant tea kettle in the corner boiling and shove a cup into the hands of every person who dared to yawn in her presence. 

“You’re back!” smiled Amabe, turning down the heat and helping Drex from his stool. “I thought you wouldn’t be here for a few more hours!”

Din focused inward to keep the coldness in his body from leaking out and said, “I left Koska in charge of cleaning up. Jhaci needed to get off her feet.”

“Koska should always be in charge of cleanup,” said Jhaci. “I once saw her successfully interrogate a General by just looking at him.”

“She’s efficient,” Din agreed. Then he gestured to the sleeping baby in the basket and asked, “Everyone okay? It's early.”

Amabe nodded as she directed Drex to start peeling with Jhaci. “Drex is just an early riser,” she said. “Finn,” she waved at the baby. “Was having some nightmares. He doesn't know how to block his mind in the Force so he project a lot when he's distressed. Woke me up.”

“How’s he doing now?” asked Din, leaning over to run a finger down the length of Finn’s nose. His little face scrunched and then softened. He’d been too young to tell the Mandos where his family was, or even his name, and everyone at the Temple was obsessively protective of him. 

“Fine,” said Amabe. “He likes the sound of cooking. How about you?”

Din sighed as she looked at him, carefully thinking only of his physical exhaustion. “Just tired. Is Luke up?”

“I think he went to the Green Temple,” said Amabe, eyeing him suspiciously. “There are some mushrooms on the walls.”

“Delicious,” said Din, retreating before she could ask him more questions. 

The sun was a searing orange as it rose just over the hill-tops, angled and bright. It lit up the purple lichen on the stones and Din closed his eyes as it hit his helmet and radiated warmth onto his skin. He kept his attention on the sound of his feet on the ground, his whole body aching. When he arrived at the Green Temple, he shucked his boots, and then practically ran up the mossy steps. He saw Luke crouched inside in the corner, a bucket at his feet, bathed in the morning light reflecting of the dew on the moss-covered walls and floor. For a moment, he could breathe.

“Amabe thinks these are edible,” said Luke. “And when I asked her how she knew she told me, ‘Not all of us grew up only farming water’ so I guess we have to trust her.” He turned to Din, a deeply loving smile spreading across his face. Din didn’t have the capacity to respond, so he just soaked in the expression before it began to slip away. 

“Din?” asked Luke, standing up, brows coming together in concern. 

Din just stood there as Luke approached, letting the cold in his body filter through his veins. Then he pulled off his helmet, dropped it on the ground, and fell to his knees. He caught himself on Luke’s waist, and pressed his face into his warm stomach, clutching at his hips and shutting away everything but Luke. 

“Din,” whispered Luke, not hesitating to bring his hands up to hold Din’s back, the curve of his neck, and dig sweetly into his hair. Din could feel the breadth of Luke’s spirit expanding to envelop him, his mind wrapping around every inch of Din’s body, and in that shelter Din let go. 

“They’re still looking for him,” gasped Din, so angry he felt the world should be shaking with him. 

The imp officer they had taken to Chandrila had been happy to talk. Too happy. He had sat there in the holding cell and yammered on, saying nothing helpful about the pseudo-cult rising out of the empire’s ashes. _We will purge the galaxy of chaos, we will show every being what power is, what we can do with power._ It was when Din had decided to leave, figuring he would get nothing more out of the man about First Order bases, that the imp had called out _And how is the Child?_

They had known for several years now that the cult was looking for force-users, beings with higher than average M-counts. Leia thought they wanted to artificially create Sith force-wielders, especially when the Jedi were but remnants of what they once were, more spiritual than active, and hidden. All this Din knew, but the thought of Grogu, who the cultists already knew had an extremely high M-count, never being able to venture past their moon without a price on his head, of living his life already a survivor of genocide, while those who might be his people, his kind, were being hunted and used—all this, on top of his constant fear that someday someone would find their moon and they would all be lost, made Din snap. Koska had dragged him from the room and held him back with his own beskar-spear and then told him to _go get some sleep, you dramatic dumbass._

He let Luke see this, read his rage and terror, and Luke pulled him closer to his stomach and chest, curving over him and squeezing. 

“It’s okay, Din,” said Luke softly. “It’s okay.”

Din shuddered. 

“Just breathe,” Luke continued, voice dropping to a whisper. “Breathe through it.” He paused and then added, “And stop thinking about grabbing Grogu and running. That’s so stupid.”

“Might work,” mumbled Din into Luke’s shirt. 

“Ridiculous.”

Din let the dark cold fade away at Luke’s touch. Soon, his heartbeat had returned to a healthy pace and he could hear the sounds of the world around them, dripping back in as the rush of his anger boiled away. It was now small enough to tuck back into his chest, like a battery, and with a long exhale, Din pulled his face away from Luke’s stomach. He looked down at him, sad and loving, and pushed Din's hair off his forehead. “Come on,” he said, tugging Din to his feet. “Let’s go watch the sunrise.”

They walked together up the hill to the dome-like trees catching the new morning with a green embrace. Din shed his armor along the way, slipping the pieces into his bag, and when they reached the top of the hill, he dropped it in the space between a pair of damp roots and fell against Luke, putting his nose on his hairline and wondering if he could just sleep right there. 

“Not standing up, you can’t,” laughed Luke. He guided Din to sit with him against the tree, in the amber rays of the sun. Din pushed himself between Luke’s legs and rested his back on his chest, turning his face into the pillow of Luke’s collar. Luke wrapped his arms and the light of his Force around him again, and the last of the frigid fear floated away. 

“I’m not sure you understand,” remarked Luke casually, after a few moments of sweet morning sounds. Din kept his gaze on the stubble under his chin, blurry at the edges for being so close, and absorbed the vibration of his throat. 

“What don’t I understand?” asked Din. 

“I’m just-- _extremely_ powerful.”

Din snorted. “Oh, are you.”

“Yeah,” said Luke, voice still light. “Do you know, I sensed it the second you dropped out of hyperspace?”

“Congratulations.”

Luke breathed deep and then said, “Sometimes, if I open my mind enough, I know I could move this whole moon.”

Din blinked and frowned at Luke’s collar bone. He _did_ know on an intellectual level how powerful Luke was. Leia had taken to saying goodbye to Din with the same phrase, _Keep him grounded_ , as if Luke was constantly threatening to float away. When they would go on missions together, Din would sometimes have to pinch himself to stop from gaping. But he never dwelled on it. To him, Luke was simply a man: a man incapable of eating anything not flaming with spices, who would whine like a child when he was sick, and would send his sister detailed, bantha-shit critiques of whatever fashion choice of hers that had recently circulated the holonet.

“All I’m saying is,” Luke continued. “If push comes to shove, I am your most powerful ally. And there's very little I wouldn't do.”

“My _ally_ ,” said Din, petty, yet comforted all the same by Luke's honest boasting.

“Your friend?” offered Luke, tapping his chin, mock-thoughtfully. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” said Luke. 

Din closed his eyes and pressed closer to Luke’s skin. Luke rested his cheek on Din’s head, and that small weight thrilled the fabric of his spine and heart.

They couldn’t and didn’t define what they were—not in the way Leia and Han could. Amabe had once asked if they would get married and Luke had given a firm ‘no.’ Din himself, while somewhat regretful, knew there was no point. Despite the intimacy of their relationship, despite the fact that Din had laid his lips on every inch of Luke’s skin, Din had always known Luke was more, had to be more, for the galaxy. In fact, even as he pressed into Luke in every way possible, this ultimate un-attachment was what Din loved most about him—that Luke could sit on a hilltop and open his heart to the entire galaxy. If this was what Jedi were meant to be, than Din could do nothing but admire it.

Some part of Luke would always have to be detached—the violence he could wreck if he didn’t was unthinkable—but the parts of him that needed to stay grounded, to be materially fixed and held, they would be Din’s: his to cherish and take care of and lean on. _Only love_ , Luke had once said. _That’s all I feel for you, all I act for you. Only love._

“Sleep,” said Luke, kissing his forehead and bending to drop another one, lingering, to his lips. “There’s always going to be a fight. Whatever happens, I’ll be here.”

Din felt his body go heavy. Images from the past several hours, of droids and blaster fire and imps, drifted away. Luke’s force-presence wound itself around him, and, like through misty water, Din could see with his mind’s eye what Luke did, the bright visions of the world. He saw frogs resting by the river, the pile of clouds on the planet beyond, Grogu waking up in the sunlight. And then he saw things that felt like dreams, un-tethered and fleeting: Amabe, older, weaving vines through the sky; a woman with a wrench in her hand, under a ship; a planet of water; a young, lonely girl marching through waves of sand. 

“Seriously, Din,” murmured Luke. “Go to sleep. You’re so kriffin’ stubborn.”

Din fell asleep with a smile. 


End file.
